27/11/2025
AFTER THE MURMURATION
Silhouettes cling to twilight's frame,
three sentinels where thousands flew
the sky still hums with ghostly claim,
phantom wings against the blue.
The dance has ended, crowds dispersed,
yet these remain to hold the space,
perched where chaos blessed and cursed
the air with wild, collective grace.
In stillness now, they watch and wait,
keepers of the fading show
the branch remembers flight's estate,
the dusk forgets which way to go.